


When Angels Pray

by LadyPoly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Universe, Castiel Prays, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Love Confessions, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 08:39:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13163304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyPoly/pseuds/LadyPoly
Summary: Castiel tends to be the one who prays for everyone else, wishes for them to be happy, healthy and safe. Fights for them to stay that way. What the Angel never expects that Christmas eve as Dean takes him to the Christmas village, is for someone to light the candle for him, for his happiness and well-being to be important, too.





	When Angels Pray

**Author's Note:**

> Image credit to this person. https://ass-butt.deviantart.com/art/Secret-Santa-Yes-Yes-265490956  
> Fic inspired by the image above
> 
> Belated Merry Christmas. Im updating this from an emergency room. Lol! I injured my dominant had. I hope you enjoy this. Let me know what you think please!!
> 
> Dearest Readers,
> 
> It would appear that not only were several of my works copied and posted as someone else’s and that a few people I trusted have also stolen ideas, images created and scenes.
> 
> Should you compare my stories to something I have not said was inspired by a prompt, or that someone has stolen, in the comments of the story please share it with the link, or the place it was and the writer's name or username. I will do what I can to contact them on my own if I need to. Please do not engage them yourselves. If I need help, I will sound the bat signal ;)
> 
> While I have dealt with the people involved the best I can, with the help of loyal reader’s and friends, I have to ask that you please keep this in mind. In the last several weeks it has become very clear to me that the majority of fanfic writers don't understand plagiarism. Stealing ideas without crediting, borrowing quotes, etc and claiming it as your own-- plagiarism. A form of fraud. You cannot take something blow for blow, change the setting and claim that either. An homage is also not done this way, and if you believe so-- it’s still a form of plagiarism.
> 
> When you cite the fandom, the characters etc, you show that you have given credit for the idea. What the writer does next if not stating a prompt and it’s source is their own. The canon ideas are given credit, the divergent is their own.
> 
> Now sometimes similarities inspired by scenes happen, but there is no reason why a comparison of the two should be clear. There is no reason for one writer’s voice to still be evident if you were inspired by their story while claiming your own idea.
> 
> I want to say this didn’t anger me, or hurt me but it did. It infuriated me and to be honest, I didn’t know if I should continue.
> 
> If I am slower to post things now, it is only due to feeling unsure. I am very sorry.
> 
> All my love,  
> LadyPoly

 

Shaking his head and smiling, Dean can’t believe that somewhere miles behind them--hours away from their last hunt, this had started with Christmas food and cookies.

 

Sam cannot fathom that Castiel has never eaten a cookie of any kind, ever, let alone never eaten a Christmas cookie. Now as Sam turns around to argue about the taste of the two snowflakes being entirely different--Dean is almost choking at the annoyed sass on Castiel’s face. This has definitely made its way into the top 10 moments on the Christmas Eve dysfunction list he’s had since he was eight. 

 

In all the years Dean has been around, all the Christmas’ he has spent as a hunter, this one is starting to take the cake as being the most amusing as well. His sides hurt from laughing, listening to Sam rant about Christmas snow versus Regular snow--especially after they had an argument about the Bible having the details wrong about the savior's birth--because Cas was young enough to remember and he certainly wasn’t going to let Sam tell him otherwise. 

 

He never thought he’d see the day the two of them fought just like family, and there is something warming about despite the immaturity brewing between them.

 

“Cas, it is so a completely different kind of snow--there's something wonderful about it. How can you be such a Grinch?”  

 

Dean chuckles, “I’m not so sure green is Cas’ color, Sammy.”  

 

Castiel narrows his eyes. He’s definitely starting to feel outnumbered. “I don’t even know who the ‘Grinch’ is...” 

 

The sass is heavy in the Angel’s voice when Sam’s eye widen in horror and Dean laughs even harder, out loud this time, as his voice carries between them, “How do you  _ still _ not know who the ‘Grinch” is? Next thing, you’ll tell me you don’t know who Rudolph is either!” 

 

Castiel rolls his eyes and stares out the Impala window, the whir of the fan on defrost keeping her windows clear as Dean drives on, giving Castiel a moment to calm down. 

 

Winchester’s were always ridiculous, but he doesn’t understand Sam’s sudden puppy like excitement over a Pagan holiday that suddenly got smashed in with one that involved one of Heaven’s most important people. 

 

Cas sighs and leans against the cool glass. Humans were still confusing. Dean was right, demons he gets--humans are a whole new level of complicated.

 

Dean clears his throat, a hand on Sam’s shoulder as he stops chuckling, “Come on, Sammy, lighten up. Not everyone is suddenly St. Nicholas when the holidays roll around. It’s Cas, man. Angel, remember?” 

 

Sam huffs and settles back into his seat. Dean’s big mossy eyes catch the icy hue of Cas’ just for a moment, holding an apology as he winks and keeps driving. He turns on the radio, Christmas songs gently fill the silence now as Dean and Sam begin to make small talk about eggnog and rum, talk of memories previous. Castiel tunes them out after a while and pulls the trench coat around himself tightly.

 

He isn’t cold. In fact, the car is pleasantly warm as the large snowflakes tumble down from the gray blue sky, the headlights reflecting off the soft rolling wisps of it across the highway. All is still, some spots in the cloud cover allowing the beginnings of silver stars to shine through. There is an ache in the Angel’s chest rising as they drive towards the Bunker. He misses the heat of those stars, the sound of the Earth on the quietest night of the year when he watched over it.

 

Castiel has seen the feeling he figures he should have after all this time on Earth. He has seen it stop the bloodshed of war, cause the mixing of cultures and diversity--of religions breaking bread together without conflict. He has borne witness to ‘Christmas miracles’ in all their glory, heard the laughter of a child--millions of them, all for the same reason. He has seen bad men repent, have a change of heart and broken families renew once again. 

 

He briefly thinks of Gabriel, of his brethren and sisters.

 

Even now, as he sees the flicker in the brother’s souls, hears the laughter in Dean’s voice and sees the sparkle of childlike wonder in Sam’s eyes, despite all he has gone through--he doesn’t feel the warmth that they seem to have, doesn’t reciprocate the affection and love for the holiday they are feeling. 

 

He wonders if maybe he isn’t meant to, if he already feels too much. His brow furrows as he looks down at his human hands, clenching them in a fist and relaxing them again. 

 

Castiel as an Angel may not completely understand the customs of this night, but as a species they do acknowledge the feeling of it--the increase in prayer and goodwill towards man. He realizes why the religious aspect of it surges good faith and brings people together. 

 

He watches Dean for a moment, eyes flickering up before they drop back to his lap--hands open in defeat. Castiel just…doesn’t see how the bad is suddenly so forgotten, forgiven, just because of this night and how so much is also lost among food and presents--in greed and the commercialization and degradation of a Saint. 

 

How do Sam and Dean, after everything, manage to be so positive about such a thing since losing nearly everything?

 

Dean shifts in the pause that falls between them all as Baby eats up the miles beneath her tires. From up front, oblivious to Castiel--or so he thinks, Dean steals a look at him the mirror. Castiel hasn’t been with them in the Bunker long, but ever since they woke that morning to do their job, before the shops opened and the music started once again, the Angel had seemed off--quieter even, for him. As amused as he had been by the playful banter between him and Sammy, he feels a pang of guilt for it. Castiel seems almost sad, conflicted even, as he takes in the lines of the face he’s memorized a thousand times, admires the new hue of blue in the eyes that stare ahead--lost in thought and yet still just as beautiful as every other time he has seen them.

 

He frowns before Sam cracks his neck and shifts. He mentions they haven’t stopped in a while and Dean realizes they really haven’t. It’s only a few hours to their destination now, maybe three at most, but Sam needs to stretch his legs, he figures, and Dean sees the gas gauge is hovering around ‘E’. Pulling off the road and heading towards Atchison, Cas sighs. It isn’t something missed by the other occupants of the car as they exchange a worried glance, Dean’s of concern and Sam of apology for his earlier comments.

 

Somehow, though, Dean doesn’t feel that whatever he is seeing is Sam’s fault. The stormy emotions he can see from the rearview mirror swirling in irises of deep cerulean blue make him think something else is definitely going on. It’s only confirmed when they stop and Cas’ gaze never leaves the dark starry horizon as snow continues to fall. The Angel doesn’t even flinch when the car doors creak and shut behind him. 

 

Dean takes one last look back at the Impala as he shoves his hands in his pockets, the pump running as Baby drinks greedily. The air is cool, crisp but still nice enough it can’t go unappreciated, as the wind is silent and the night does have a feeling of magic--or something in it that Dean can’t explain. He sighs. Hard to believe they made it another year, especially after his showdown with Amara when he thought that was really it for him. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply.

 

Dean definitely feels grateful to see the little puffs of snow falling around him as Sam chats up the blond store clerk in a very red and green christmas sweater and mock halo above her head. He hears Sam’s very cheerful ‘Merry Christmas’ moments after the pump has stopped running, Dean blowing in his hands from the metal being cold against them moments before.

 

He raises an eyebrow at the grin on Sam’s face as he bobs up and down on his toes in front of him, hovering with deep, expressive, grass green eyes he’d know anywhere. 

 

Dean sighs and shakes his head, “All right, Happy the Christmas elf. What’s got you ready to put bells on and sing a merry little tune?” 

 

Sam beams, holding out a flyer and making Dean picture a five year old kid with shaggy hair, begging to sit on Santa’s lap while out with Bobby on a supply run. His dopey grin is going to break his face and it warms Dean as he remembers the joy such a simple thing brought Sammy back then--having ridden that feeling right on past the New Year like it was the greatest thing in the world. After all, they hunted werewolves and demons. Santa wasn’t hard for the little guy to believe in as well.

 

“I don’t know about you, but not that long ago, I thought I’d never see you again. I got my Mom back and then lost her almost just as quickly after I had finally gotten to meet her. I’ve never even had anything other than that one moment, and after everything we’ve fought against and won…I just want to enjoy this, with you, with Cas, and I think it would be a good experience for him, too.”  

 

Sam’s eyes are practically swimming in nervous tears, he realizes now, the words about their Mom are strained as Sam runs his fingers through his hair. “I thought we could just be a family for a change. Do something normal while we still can. For once, I actually feel really good about the holiday and I’m thankful we’re together...” 

 

Dean licks his lips, eyes moving towards his shoulder as if they can still see Cas from where he’s standing. Dean rubs at the back of his neck, feeling every bit of the emotion Sam conveys and trying to shake it off. 

 

If he’s honest, his back hurts. He’s getting older and the drives take more out of him than he’d like to admit. He sort of, despite it being Christmas, wants his bed. On the other hand, though, Cas looked so sad and Sam’s gaze is lingering--caught between sad they're not with their Mom and full of childlike pleading for all things Santa and Feliz Navidad.  

 

Dean sighs, “Ah, what the hell. We’re already here, anyways, and who knows? Maybe there’s pie somewhere,” he smiles, “Just...no more puppy eyes, Sammy. You’re giving me memory whiplash.” 

 

Sam chuckles, knocking himself into Dean’s hip as they go back to the car. Dean shoves him back, rounding the back end of the sleek black car before his gigantic moose of a brother can land him in the snow on his rump. He narrowly misses his footing but catches the door just in time as Sam bursts out laughing. 

 

Cas watches them curiously when they pile in, meeting Dean’s warm smile in the rear view mirror as his stomach flip flops at the way it makes him feel. Dean brushes the snow off his shoulder and turns to study him with a look Cas hasn’t seen since the Brothel before his fight with Raphael. 

 

“Looks like you’re getting a taste of Christmas after all, Cas. Who knows? Maybe we’ll even make your heart grow two sizes by the time were done.” 

 

*****************

 

Atchison is just one more city Dean realizes they haven’t really made use of on their long drives and road trips. It looks almost cheery as they pull in, street lamps glowing in low gold auras, trimmed in decorations of silver bells, and red and green tinsel. 

 

It isn’t hard to find the large glow of the lights, the flow of people trudging through the soft snow as Dean slows Baby--pulling up alongside a row of cars in front of a store that looks like a pharmacy. The engine stills, ticking softly as some people admire her when they walk past. A few children point as they pass and Dean smiles at them as he steps out into the night air. 

 

The snow is slowing, everything now covered in a fine white fluff that makes Dean think of powdered sugar. Sam stands tall, breathing deeply--his eyes lighting up at the smell of deep fried foods and cocoa wafting through the air. Dean’s stomach growls loudly, catching a whiff of fresh bread wafting somewhere between cookies and the smell of pine from the trees that he can see stacked around the entrance to the grounds where people are disappearing from view. 

 

Castiel closes his door with a soft click, his grace automatically adjusting for the cold and falling snow. He watches the couples holding hands, listens to the sounds of voices rising around him in different songs, some causing a pang of homesickness. From behind him, Dean tosses something over his head, the Angel surprised when he looks at the brothers, who are grinning at him like a bunch of small children. Dean winks, Cas’ insides twisting strangely.

 

“It looks good on ya, Cas,” Sam replies, both of them wearing similar wool fabrics in hues of green. The wool of the scarf is a pale blue, soft against his vessel’s skin and warm. He frowns, picking at it as his nose wrinkles.

 

“I am not cold,” he says, and Dean rolls his eyes. His arm slings around the Angel’s shoulder as he pushes him forwards.

 

“Gotta appear the part, Cas, or people are gonna think you're a nutcase in just your tiny little trench coat,” Sam chuckles behind him, falling into step as they enter under the large lit archway and into the crowds of people scattered through the little village of red roofs, and golden glowing light against the snow and warmth. “Besides, it’s a gift, Cas. We keep those, ya?” 

 

Castiel brings his hand to rest on the material that suddenly feels heavy on his frame at those words. No one has ever really given him a gift ‘just because’ before--especially not on Christmas. Christmas wasn’t meant for him, after all. 

 

They stay with him as the brothers talk, pointing out items or laughing about things from Christmas’ before that Cas has no understanding or reference for. He stands awkwardly as he watches Dean purchase a head ornament of some sort for Sam, his shoulders missing the hunter’s touch. The gift pushes the man’s soft caramel colored hair back behind his ears, Sam’s breath causing little cloud puffs in front of his face as he laughs. 

 

“Now you look like a real Moose, Sammy,” Dean comments, Sam grinning and Cas tilts his head, confused. 

 

“But Dean, those are rein--” he stops when they both look at him with raised eyebrows, Dean’s face full of its usual tone of _ “Oh, Cas,” _ indicating that he was well aware and once again Castiel missed the point. 

 

The Angel huffs, choosing to look away somewhere that doesn’t involve anything remotely human or trivial of something twisted and commercial as his ears feel warm.

 

Why couldn’t the holiday still be celebrated the way it was meant to, full of Heaven’s great pause as they filled with song, falling upon the Earth as it stilled, as man, animal and all looked up to join them. 

 

One song, one voice. One reason, a hope for something more.

 

Staring up at the North star, Cas follows its light, its silver glow as it bathes a small church in blessing. Sam and Dean are turned from where he stands, talking softly as they admire something in the booth before them. A feeling of loneliness washes over him, reminding him of how out of place he still is--how empty the church has become for all of this, void of worship, of remembrance of his Father’s Son, born to and for humanity.

 

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Castiel leaves without a word, trudging through the crunching snow beneath his shoes. The old, white door opens with a creak, echoing when he shuts it softly behind him. As he suspected, there is no one inside. The old wooden pews, varnished in cherry stain, stretch far before him, looking as lonely as the feeling in his chest. It smells of frankincense, myrrh. It’s warm, the inside dimly lit and still in its silence.

 

The Angel closes his eyes, letting the feeling of worship, the small connection to Heaven that still hovers here, wash over him.

 

Some churches had more of it than others, there was no denying that. It was how they worked, like a small crack had formed from Earth to Heaven, reaching up to feel God and all he created, all that he and other’s wrote in a book rewritten and told over and over, butchered or worshipped to how it fit some people’s agendas. He’s surprised this one has the strength it does, way out here, tucked behind the few trees and snow.

 

Castiel’s steps echo quietly around him, fingers gently dipping into the holy water as he signs the cross on himself, passing the threshold of the outside, into prayer. His sapphire blue eyes lock with the front of the church, the image of his half-brother hanging in marble and polished stone. He bows, eyes lowered, as his grace flutters inside of him--a respect, a feeling of apology and one of longing for family.

 

At the altar, rows of prayer candles are unlit, one lonely flame flickering in the air. Lighting the wooden stick, Cas lights one for each of those he’s holding inside his heart that night.

 

One for Claire, wondering about her and wishing she had Jimmy, Amelia. Hoping his prayer for her safety, his apology is heard. For guidance, when she needs it.

 

One for Gabriel, Balthazar, and Samandriel. His brothers, his fallen comrades, as his apology and guilt grow.

 

Another for Charlie, the prophet Kevin. Ellen and her daughter, Pam and Ash. Bobby and Jimmy and his wife. Eileen, whom he never met but heard of in Sam’s anguish. Faces of people who got them where they are, helped the brothers get to where they are, so that he could be here, too. 

 

He lights one for Mary, hoping it helps her find her way. Another for John Winchester, wondering if the boys are thinking of him tonight. If they miss him. 

 

He lights one for Hannah, the loss still sometimes sore. Hannah was his friend. One more, after a moment's hesitation, when he thinks of Meg. They had a Christmas together inside those hospital walls, gifts wrapped in newspaper but exchanged nonetheless. He gave her honey. She gave him mistletoe and a single kiss that tasted of ash, brimstone and a hint of summer flowers. He misses her from time to time. 

 

The last two are lit for Sam and Dean, eyes intensely watching the flame of those two candles burn brighter than the rest. Both are for the hope to be safe, protected and to be happy. To want to stay by him, even if it is selfish. They are, after all…all he has left. 

 

Dean’s candle, though, begins to burn the brightest of all--his prayer containing the weight of what he’s feeling, fighting against and unsure of. 

 

Sitting down in the first pew near to where he was, Cas watches the flames orange hue on the walls flutter against the stained glass windows of Heaven’s greatest accomplishments, the snow still falling outside.

 

Reaching into his grace, suspending himself, he tries to focus on Chuck, his Father. Find some sign of him, some indication of him amongst the Earth.  He doesn’t hear the door when Dean enters, the hunter watching Cas’ form silently, head lowered and a faint blue glow around his space like an aura. 

 

“I wonder, Father--Do you watch us from where you are? Do you ever regret leaving your children in the hands of us, those who still try and protect these frail, desperate and fragile creatures?” Dean stills, barely breathing as Cas’ voice echoes through the space around him. 

 

“I have done so many things wrong since you sent me from Heaven’s confines, marched us to Hell’s gate and I freed Dean Winchester. Did you know I would fall when you sent us in? Did you know that I would love the way I do now? Want, and pray for Dean’s affections and heart in the way I want to give him my own, despite going against everything we’re taught as Angels?”  Cas’ voice cracks, thick with his confession, torn and sad. Full of heartache. “And yet...he only calls me brother.”

 

It causes Dean to frown, eyes closing, guilt mixing with the emotions already heavy in his chest, surging his own emotions for Castiel to the surface.

 

He always wondered about it, too. If it was fate that put them through the mess and entanglement or if it was Chuck’s fault all along. Dean sighs, running a hand along his face. Maybe fault wasn’t the right word, not everything between them was bad or full of heartache. Dean lets his eyes fall upon the angel’s hunched shoulders. 

 

Cas was family, always would be…But he tried never to think of more. More meant wanting to stay happy, loving someone, and everyone he loved always got hurt, or worse. 

 

Hearing Cas now, though, the way he sounds so gutted and upset, maybe he didn’t agree. Was being around Dean and his brother…really so bad, even after all this time? After everything?

 

Did Cas only see it all as a mistake? 

 

The hunter's heart hurts. Did Castiel not want to love him? Was he not good enough? 

 

Turning towards the door, Dean clenches his fist and swallows down his emotions.  

 

“I love him more than I can bear…but I know he’ll never feel the same, even when I give up everything to show it again and again.”  Dean turns. 

 

_ What? _

 

The light around Castiel fades, the Angel of the Lord tugging off the scarf around his neck, clutching it against his chest, breathing in the scent of the Impala, of Dean and ozone from outside.  He presses it to his face, heart aching, “I just wish I knew what to do...” 

 

Dean closes his eyes, and breathes.

 

Behind Castiel, the door slams closed with a blast of frosted air. Cas lets the scarf fall to his lap self consciously and steadies himself, “Hello, Dean.”  

 

The hunter smiles sadly when Cas’ voice is level, all of his previous emotions shielded again, protected by Angelic persona. 

 

“Heya, Cas…You all right?” 

 

Turning away to face the cross, Castiel debates lying, protecting himself but--in here of all places? Looking down at the candles he lit, their wax melting, pooling and growing shorter, he realizes how much they have in common. Just like everyday he doesn’t tell Dean how he feels, their lives grow shorter than before. An inevitable scenario for them all. 

 

Castiel shifts, clutching the scarf in his hands, twisting it nervously. 

 

Dean admires the candles casting shadows as he comes to stand beside Castiel, elbow nearly brushing his shoulder where the Angel sits. Bending down at the knees, the hunter surprises him by lighting a single candle himself.  He ponders who it’s for, wondering who Dean is thinking of before Cas feels it. 

 

Like water rushing across the shore, the feeling rips across his grace like a shock wave. In the still of the church, taken by surprise Cas meets Dean’s eyes.

 

Above him, they shimmer, taking on the appearance of pine needles, dark but gentle, serious. The emptiness in the Angel’s chest dissipates as the hunter sits down beside him, elbows touching, Dean’s knee knocking into his playfully. 

 

“You--you prayed for me...” 

 

Dean shrugs, taking in the smells of the church, the wood, varnish and old books in the holders. “Before my Mom died, Christmas Eve was the only time of year we went to church. It wasn’t a very big congregation at the time, something a lot like this but the people were friendly, and I loved drinking apple cider at the end of it all. Somehow I always managed just one more cookie, no one having the heart to tell me no when I stuffed another gingerbread man between my cheeks.” 

 

Dean looks far away as Cas admires his profile, “My favorite part, though, as Dad put me on his shoulders and Mom would hold my hand, was they way they sounded when they sang. Somehow that night was always different than the others, made me believe I really did have Angels looking over me like Mom used to say when she tucked me into sleep.”  

 

The eldest Winchester closes his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat at the image of baby Sammy tucked into his Mother’s arm. He can remember the little knitted booties as he happily kicked and cooed, little hazel eyes sparkling as he smiled up at Dean. 

 

Castiel can see something similar, a memory of Jimmy’s before their connection was severed. It’s one he recalls from sharing a vessel with Claire as well. They had celebrated much the same.

 

Dean’s hand covers Cas’ where its buried in the scarf, sparks skittering between them. When Cas looks away, face warm, Dean smiles. 

 

“Angels we have heard on high...” Somehow, the voice changes here inside these walls, different than the one Cas’ hears sing in the car. It’s focused, bold. He finds it wash over him, calm him. 

 

“Sweetly singing o'er the plains.” The emotion behind the words echoes around them, a spark along Cas’ grace, every word for him, not the Lord, the holiday or God. 

 

Dean’s faith was never gone, it just changed hands and heart. 

 

_ Dean’s faith was in him.  _

 

“And the mountains in reply, echoing their joyous strains...” The hunter’s low growl, the uniqueness of his singing trails off, the air thick around them, touching and sweet.

 

Closing his eyes, pulling from the feeling Dean inspires inside of him--exposed, honest and maybe even raw. He finds a voice, one much different than the one he uses now as his grace guides it to sound more like Jimmy's once did. He is an Angel with renewed purpose, renewed faith. The song reminding him of the praise he joined in Heaven, all those Christmas’ ago.

 

“Glo-ororororororororo-ria….In Excelsis Deo.” Dean smiles, the sound of Cas springing tears to his emerald eyes as he fills the silence, every space awoken to the sound of a literal Angel with the voice to match. The church is practically glowing.

 

“ Glo-ororororororororo-ria….In Excelsis Deo.” Dean echoes, both of them together, in unison, in harmony and blended. 

 

As one.

 

They sing it all, Dean not always sure of the words, but Castiel pushing him ahead. His eyes burn with unshed tears, throat closing by the end. Mary and his Father echo inside his head with baby Sammy and his cooing. The memories of Christmas past knock the wind from his chest.

 

The knot inside his chest releases, and as Cas’ grace retreats, the warmth of what they shared hovers. Dean doesn’t bother to wipe the tears slowly falling down his cheeks. How had he been so blind?

 

“You're the one who watches over me now, no matter what happens--even when all of Heaven and God himself turned a blind eye on me, on my brother and our family.” 

 

Lifting his head, Dean’s fingers find Cas’ chin, forcing them to once again lock eyes. This time, Dean makes sure he really looks, really focuses on the swirl of life, of hues of blue and a whole world that gives him hope. It’s all right there, right before him. Always had been 

 

“I prayed for you, because Cas, dammit, you deserve to know how important you are. How you’ve accomplished great things…” The Angel swallows, choked up inside as his lip quivers. 

 

Dean moves to cup his face, thumb gingerly tracing the curve of his mouth, “You deserve to know that you are loved,” he whispers, eyes lowering when his hand drops back to Cas’, “I never should have waited this long to tell you...but I heard your prayers...”

 

Castiel eyes the cross from the corner of his vision, grace suddenly light, brighter than before. Dean’s soul strangely looks the same way as Castiel brings his hand to rest upon Dean’s shoulder where he once pieced him back together, made him whole again.

 

“I have loved you since you took your first breath out of Hell, turned to the sunshine and laid upon the Earth renewed. You had already begun to change me, somehow, and as we went forward, fought foes and lost friends, you never ceased to amaze me. To inspire things I never knew were real, things I didn’t know I was capable of.”  

 

His eyes study Dean then, focusing through his glow to crow’s feet, stiff muscles and the streaks of salt upon his skin. He wipes them away with the scarf and genuinely smiles at the beauty Dean carries inside and out. 

 

Dean closes his eyes and for a brief moment, time slows, only for them. His lips meet Cas’ chastely, warm and soft. Cas melts into it, lips parting only briefly before they stop. They stare at each other in silence before Dean grabs his hand, dragging Castiel to his feet and through the church doors, busting them wide open with something that can only be called glee. 

 

The cold is refreshing against the heat of their moment as it shows on their faces, settles in their hearts and when he finds Sam, Dean realizes he never stopped holding Cas’ hand.  Sam smiles, handing Cas a cup of cocoa, the marshmallows melting, the candy cane hooked on the side. Sam bumps his apple cider against his drink, a look of childish amazement and wonder written all over his face.

 

“About time. Merry Christmas, Cas.” The Angel smiles, and Dean squeezes his hand a little tighter as Sam clasps his brother on the back.

 

It turns out, the Christmas village isn't so bad after all, not when Dean’s hand is inside his, undeterred by the few who watch them with unreadable expressions. Some smile, some don’t even notice, as they celebrate a love of their own.  

 

A little girl with bright brown, caramel colored eyes and blonde hair hands them candy canes when they gather by the center of the festival, lights glowing all around them. Love and laughter surround them like a hug.

 

Cas watches people gather, savoring the taste of sugar cookies, elephant ears with cinnamon that Sam insisted he try and Dean’s peppermint kisses on his tongue. Everytime Cas stares too long, Dean pulls him in close, another kiss. He claims he’s cold, taking advantage of the warmth. Sam knows better, but it’s sweet to see. Nice for a change.

 

People clap and cheer when the large tree is lit, and Cas finds himself toppled into the snow as Dean kisses him breathless somehow, body buzzing and content. Sam laughs wholeheartedly, tossing snowballs at them and claiming they’re gross.

 

Castiel doesn’t understand what Sam means, Dean’s kisses are wonderful. 

 

When the fight breaks out, though, it starts because of Sam, lots of people joining in. Cas finally understands why scarves are so practical and important to wear properly when one gets the back of his head. The snow is uncomfortable down his collar, stuck between his coat and trench.  Dean brushes him off, rubbing their noses together and laughing. 

 

If Castiel could light another candle in that moment, his prayer would be to never stop hearing that sound. Dean is beautiful in his bliss. Somehow more so like this than he thought even, all the times before.

 

They go back to the Impala with pink noses and damp clothing. Dean’s side hurts from laughing, and both brothers are sporting bruises from horsing around on the ground, rolling in the fresh powder like they’re suddenly ten and six again. 

 

Castiel could be blinded by their souls.

 

“Merry Christmas, Cas,” Dean says softly, cheeks pink and hands cold as he finds Cas’ again to steal warmth.

 

The Angel finally understands now why the brothers wanted this, wanted to show him. Why people gathered in the snow and cold for treats and the exchange of gifts, whether verbal, musical or physical.

 

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”  Cas throws his arms around him like he had watched other couples do, kissing him again--this time long and drawn out against the side of the Impala as Sam shakes his head and climbs inside. As Baby starts up with a low growl, humming in the cold, Dean makes a heart on the window. 

 

Castiel writes “I <3 U” inside of it and Dean rests their foreheads together.

 

The world is still. Silent. Holy and peaceful, even if just for the moment.

 

“Thank you, Dean, for the gifts you have given me tonight.” The younger man smiles, lips against the Angel’s forehead.

 

“I think it’s the least I could do, Cas. After all, I owe you for springing me from Hell.” 

 

Cas hums, burying his face in the green wool around Dean’s neck, “Take me home? I think I have much more to learn about how you and Sam celebrate Christmas.” 

 

Dean practically bounces, barking for Sam to shove over when Cas slides beside him. Sam wonders if Dean will ever stop holding Cas’ hand. 

 

As he watches the stars passing by the window, the younger Winchester says a silent prayer of his own. Sometimes Christmas miracles  _ do _ happen. 

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
